The Greatest Sin
by Tatsuyuri
Summary: Sometimes the greatest of sins can't be ignored or forgiven. **Chapter Five Re-Posted. Thanks to viggen for catching my oops!**
1. Chapter 1

It is best for everyone, he knows it, but it doesn't make things any easier. No one would want him around now anyway and hadn't he always wanted to see the world?

His hand lingers on the doorframe, the inn quiet and dark while everyone sleeps. He leaves no note, no goodbye, no clue to anyone where he's gone or why. It's safer for him and safer for them to not know anything at all.

"Revan!"

He cringed at the sound of his sister's voice. Any other man would be in heaven, blessed by the Creator to be so surrounded by women. Revan found it annoying at best. He was the only male of four children, and the youngest to boot. He wasn't a brother, he was a pack mule and free labor for the inn. Annoying.

"What??" he called back, ignoring the command behind the voice – for now. His hands worked carefully over the strings of his harp. It needed tuning and sanding.

"REVAN!!"

This time the sound of his sister's voice was shrill and angry. Great. He wasn't allowed his own pleasures because he had to tend to theirs and that of the inn's guests. He set his harp down gently and sighed heavily. The day was not starting well already and the sun was not even at its zenith.

"I'm coming!" he hollered back, already agitated. His feet carried him out of his secluded hidey hole on instinct for, given the choice, he'd have stayed locked away drowning on the notes of his music. It was a passion that called to him more than anything in the world. To play for others was as fulfilling and erotic an experience for him as it was to lay with another. Truth be told, he preferred the strings of his harp to the curves of a woman.

"What?" he said, once he'd made his way downstairs to the kitchens where Mira stood, hands on hips, toe tapping. Revan hardly seemed to care, throwing himself against the door frame in a clearly agitated stance.

"Are you deaf?" she said. "I called for you – twice."

"I heard you," he responded, sounding bored. Mira hardly seemed amused. She was the eldest of the four Si'ahl children, seven years Revan's senior.

"I need you to go get the order from the butcher," she stated, folding her arms beneath her very ample breasts. Four different men courted his sister, currently – something for which she was quite proud of.

"Why can't Lirim just bring them?" he asked. Lirim usually brought the orders to the inn rather than having Revan or his father trek out to get it. It was a rare time when they had to go across town to retrieve their order.

"Because he's sick, fool, and Mistress Ilsa is tending to him – now get before I whollop you for being a lazy sod."

"They have sons," Revan retorted instead, feeling the familiar throb at his temple now. "Isn't one of them your suitor – have him bring it as a favor for sharing your bed."

The look on Mira's face would have been enough to set him in a foul mood for a week but the resounding slap across his face guaranteed death to the next idiot that crossed him.

" Get moving," she growled and said no more. She didn't have to. He knew his limits with his sisters. Setting _them_in a foul mood set their father in a foul mood and when his temper snapped, you wished for the Dark One's torment instead.

The argument ended there and 20 minutes later, Revan had the inn's small cart hitched and was on his way to the butcher. It didn't take long to get things from Padran and he learned that Lirim was actually rather ill – something that had him swimming in his own sweat.

"Hey," Padran said as he helped Revan load the last of their order into the cart. "If you see Moran tell him he should be back here helping instead of swooning over your sister's breasts."

Revan couldn't help but laugh at Padran's request. His sister could seduce a eunuch into bed and have him screaming her name to the heavens – and rightly so, she'd learned from their mother. However, the attentions she was currently getting had stopped being intriguing and cute several moons past now.

"I'll make sure to deliver the message," Revan responded as he climbed back onto their little roan mare. "Take care Pad."

"You too – hey, will you play tonight?" Padran asked before Revan could pull away.

" Maybe," Revan shrugged. "If mother asks me." He couldn't help but smile at that. There was hardly a night that his mother _didn't_ask him to play for their guests. She loved hearing him and doted on him because of it. It was the only reason he stuck around.

"She always asks you to play," Padran pointed out with a smirk.

"Then I guess I'll be playing, won't I?" Revan retorted, getting their roan mare started on the way back. "Come see for yourself! Saliha will be home tonight!"

"I'll be there!" Padran called back happily, waving as his friend rode back to the inn.

The evening had gone well. Padran had come to watch him play – and to make doe eyes at his sister, Saliha. She was the same age as Padran and only a year and a half older than Revan. She didn't flaunt herself nearly as much as Mira did – probably _because_Mira did – but Revan had always thought she was the most lovely of his three sisters. And, he was not too proud to admit that she and Padran were a good match, nor that he helped get them together whenever Saliha was home.

His sister was an Accepted of the White Tower, well on her way to being Aes Sedai. She'd risen fast through the ranks of Novice and had only just attained her new status. But, as a result, she was now allowed to plan visits back with her family, visits they all cherished when they came to pass.

"Well well," someone scoffed, interrupting his thoughts as he walked home from his studies. "If it isn't mama's little songbird."

Nethin Gameer. He and his little drones were constantly picking on Revan, poking fun for his talent and skill - - and for having a doting mother that made it well known just how much she loved her son's music.

"You're not lost, are you mama's boy?" Nethin asked, stepping in Revan's path.

"I don't have time for your pathetic games, Gameer," Revan replied his tone smug and annoyed at the same time. "Move. Or be moved."

"Oh-ho really now?" Nethin chortled, closing in rather than listening to Revan's words. They were in a mood this day, apparently, for they rarely challenged him as a unit like they were doing now. Even if he couldn't always best them, Revan definitely left marks to show for his efforts and word always got back to his father – who couldn't be bested by anyone.

"Gotta go play for mommy?" another of the drones asked. The boy was no older than Revan and already trying too hard at being a man. He had patches of hair along his chin that he insisted looked decent when really it just made him appear to have eaten something rotten. Revan neither bothered nor cared to learn the idiot's name for that reason alone.

He really had no time for their games however. Not that he enjoyed their encounters for they usually ended with something broken, bruised or otherwise injured but he was not one to back down from a challenge. Today, however, he had specific things to pick up and return to his father that, if ignored, late or forgotten, would earn him a lashing he'd not soon forget.

"Maybe the songbird will sing for us, lads?" Nethin said now giving Revan a good hard shove to the chest that sent him back into the alley he'd just come out of. Shortcuts never hurt – unless Nethin found you in them.

"I said I don't have time for this," Revan growled, shoving back with equal strength.

"Make time," is all Nethin said before all of them closed in, five on one. The odds were hardly fair but this time they didn't seem interested in simple bruises or a side-alley rough-and-tumble. Something had set these drones in a mood, something that had upset them enough to want to take it out on Revan.

"Where have you been?" his father asked as soon as he set foot in the door.

Revan's feet stopped of their own accord but he couldn't look at his father. He was surprised he was even able to remain upright after what had just happened.

"I… ran in to Nethin," Revan replied, choosing the truth over a lie.

"Is that beast still giving you trouble?" his father responded, the anger already on his voice and tone. "You should end that account, settle it man to man like is proper instead of letting that brat skulk about whenever he feels the need to let out aggressions."

_Light, if you only knew…_ Revan thought, swallowing hard as he handed his father the packages he'd been charged with collecting.

"I don't… uhm… I don't feel very well and… Nethin didn't help," he continued, still unable to look his father in the eye. "If its alright with you… I think I'll skip supper tonight."

"Are you ill?" his father said, noting that his son did look rather pale and clammy – something that would not happen as a result of being picked on, even if he'd lost.

"Maybe… my… stomach hurts," Revan said. It wasn't entirely a lie either. His stomach pained him from how much it twisted into knots and roiled with the memories of what he'd done.

"_Stop it Nethin!" Revan roared, feeling the hands holding him down, overpowering him as Nethin took out his aggressions on Revan. "Get off!"_

"_That's what I like to hear," Nethin crooned sadistically. "That's what a songbird should really sound like."_

_The others didn't question, just watched as their leader tormented this boy, their peer for no other reason than the sheer joy of it. _

"_GET OFF!!" Revan howled when things had gotten a little too far and a little too uncomfortable for his tolerance levels. Nethin wasn't after a good beating, he was after something else, something more vile and disgusting than a simple brawl through the alley. Revan could see it in his eyes, the anger and fear in the other boy that was forced to endure what he was about to enact. It was terrifying almost to the point that Revan thought he might be sick right then and there. Nethin wanted someone else to feel the same pain, share the same horrors that he endured – what better person than Revan?_

_But fear was a powerful thing, for the tormentor and the tormented. The other boys didn't realize what was happening until it was too late, until they'd started feeling the burn against their hands, the heat rising within them and then the painful, horrifying smolder of their own flesh._

"…van? Son, are you sure you're not coming down with something? You looked downright ghastly just now," he heard his father say, coming back to the moment.

"I…" he stuttered unsure of how to continue. "I… think I just need some rest."

"Go," his father said without argument. He knew when his children were lying just to get out of chores and when they were honestly feeling under the weather. If he hadn't known better, he'd have said Revan had been about to pass out not five seconds prior. The boy was ill with something and if it didn't clear by morning, he'd fetch the Wisdom to come and look him over.

Revan didn't argue, nodding numbly as he traversed the steps to the top floors of the inn in a daze. The maids that passed him smiled or said hello but he neither took notice nor responded, his mind forged with the sounds and images of the other boys writhing in agony, bleeding from their eyes and ears at his will – a will he couldn't stop until it was too late.

His hand lingers on the doorframe, the inn quiet and dark while everyone sleeps. Already rumors have started to fly: a Fade had killed those boys or a Darkfriend, perhaps even some mysterious plague.

No one can ever know the truth, they wouldn't understand anyway.

With one final glance to his old life, he slips out the door and starts his long journey towards the end of his sanity.


	2. Chapter 2

Rain pounded the ground, drumming against the roof of the inn and flooding the cobbled streets of Saldea. Sometimes, the sound of the rain was soothing, a calming presence while Maddie worked. Sometimes it was as terrifying as the storms that brought the water, bringing chaos and horror with each angry droplet of rain. Tonight, it was somewhere in between: too hard to be soothing, not hard enough to be terrifying.

The evening had gone well, the patrons all satisfied even if most left early due to the rain. The only ones that stayed were the ones that had a room and even they seemed to be turning in early. Her duties were simple: wash the dishes, make sure the compost is taken out at the end of the night. Not hard really, and it wasn't a bad place to work. Pay was decent and groping was kept down to a minimum.

"Staying in tonight, Maddie?" Jefram asked. He was always looking out for her, asking if she needed an escort home or wanted to have a cup of shaved ice after their shifts. He was sweet and not all that bad to look at but she considered him an older brother even if he had different feelings for her.

"Likely so," she responded putting the last of the compost into the bucket at her feet. "Rainin' too hard to go anywhere really."

"Aye, that it is. 'Spect some of the docks will be flooded by mornin'," he replied, glancing at her sideways with that silly grin of his. It always made her smile even if she didn't want to.

"Lets hope not – I need to get the day's fish 'fore comin' to shift," she said, hefting the compost bucket up to take out. "Get the door for me, Jef?"

He didn't even try to argue, dusting his hands off immediately to go open the door for her. She nodded her thanks and headed out, the rain sloughing off the roof in sheets. The compost pile was just under the overhang of the roof, which meant she wouldn't get too wet but expecting to stay dry was just silly.

"Bit wet out there!" Jefram called to her, watching her to make sure nothing untoward happened to his love. She didn't return the feelings, he knew, but she still cared for him and that was enough.

"Very observant!" she retorted snidely, turning the bucket over onto the rest of the compost heap. It was only then that she noticed the young man laying beside it, wet to his very core and yet his cheeks were still flushed with fever. He trembled with the cold and looked as if he'd been drug through a mud farm for all the dirt on him.

"Light save us," she said, dropping the bucket instantly to check on the young man. "Jefram!!"

The boy – for he was no older than fifteen – shook so violently she couldn't move him, every muscle tense. With the amount of rain and water he'd soaked up he should have been an ice cube and yet he burned to the touch, coughing and spluttering in the rain.

"What?! What's wrong – Creator alive…" Jefram breathed out.

"Well don't just stand there, help me!" she scolded once her friend had come out. "He'll die for sure if we leave him out here."

Jefram didn't argue, scooting in beside Maddie, feeling the icy-cold water slide down his back when he stepped out of the overhang. He ignored the shivers, bending down to lift the young man up so he could be carried inside.

"Mistress!" Maddie called as she followed Jefram back into the inn's kitchen. "Mistress Lida!!"

"What, child, you don't have to - - good heavens," the mistress said when she saw the boy, wet and trembling on the floor of her kitchens. She went to him immediately, looking to her two staff members for an explanation.

"He was layin' on the compost," Maddie explained, seeing the look. "He weren't there this afternoon."

"He needs a bed and something dry or he'll catch his death if he hasn't already. Jefram, bring him – we'll put him up in one of the empty rooms."

Jefram merely nodded silently again, once more hefting the ill lad up and following his employer up the back steps of the inn. He didn't argue when she asked him to help strip the boy of his sopping wet clothes either. The child was filthy and so fantastically ill it was a wonder he still lived.

"I need blankets, Maddie, as many as we can spare," the mistress ordered as she peeled the boy's pants off then stuffed him into the feather mattress bed in the room. "And start boiling some water."

"Yes, mistress," Maddie said, bobbing a quick curtsy before running off to gather what she'd been asked.

"What's wrong with him, mistress?" Jefram asked, glancing over her shoulder as she brushed the boy's wet strands of hair from his face. He still trembled and now that he was out of the rain, Jefram heard him whimper from time to time.

"Fever dreams at the least," the mistress responded. "What he needs is a bath."

Jefram couldn't help but snicker at that comment. Even the ill were not exempt from cleanliness under Mistress Lida's roof. However, by the looks of the boy, he wouldn't get that far if things continued as they were.

Things did not make sense to him. He was tired and sore, shivering yet he knew he felt the warmth of his own body radiate back at him from beneath the blankets. He didn't even remember climbing beneath the blankets – or into a bed for that matter. His head kept alternating between pain and bouts of vertigo that were making him nauseous.

He then became aware of the coolness on his brow to counteract the warmth of the blankets. There was a smell of beeswax and lemon tea on the air as well, something he found odd and a bit troubling. The last thing he remembered was being in a hay wagon heading into Maradon, he could even recall the itch on his skin from sitting amongst the dried grasses.

He forced his eyes to open at that point, unwilling to sit naked in bed with the need to scratch himself everywhere. He had to find out where he was or risk writhing with phantom itches. What his eyes were met with, however only served to confound him further. White spackled ceilings with the glow from a candle met his eyes, blurred heavily by the fever and his own tears. No amount of blinking helped clear the image before him and, after a while, he gave up.

"Comin' back 'round?" someone asked from his left. It was a girl by the sound of her. She was soft spoken – or else further than he thought – for her voice didn't carry all that far.

He actually made an effort to try and answer her but got as far as a half-garbled groan and had to stop. There was no question in his mind that he'd fallen ill, but just how ill seemed to be up for debate – or why. He'd not actually been near other people in at least three days or more.

"Wh-" he tried, finding he was a bit hoarser than he'd originally thought.

"Maradon," the young lady answered, moving closer to the bed. He heard her skirts rustle with her movements and managed to incline his head in her direction, her form coming to him in a tall fluffy blur. "At the The Broken Lance."

The name didn't sound familiar to him but at least he was in Maradon, which is where he'd intended to be. The fact that he still lived was a blessing in and of itself – he'd worry about where his belongings got off to when he had the capacity for coherency. The Creator seemed to shine on him this day – either that, or dumb luck just erred on his side.


	3. Chapter 3

Everyone crowded the common room of The Broken Lance. Tables had been cleared to make room for dancing. People clapped and tapped toes to the beat of the music, bouncing and hoping jovially.

Jefram, Maddie and Revan all hovered in the doorway to the kitchens, listening to the bard play, watching the guests dance. They'd already danced a few times back in the kitchen, all of them falling into fits of giggles at Revan's impersonation antics. He could always make them smile, something he was quite proud of.

"This one's good," Jefram said, tapping his fingers against the door frame to the kitchen. Both Revan and Maddie nodded in agreement. The last bard that had come through had left with tomatoes chasing his retreating back. The mistress had not been pleased in the least.

"You should play for the mistress, Hazel," Maddie said in a low whisper, nudging his shoulder. Neither Jefram nor Maddie ever used his real name anymore. Mistress Lida had commented how beautiful his eyes were at one point and the nickname had stuck since then. He'd never bothered to correct them for there were worse things in life than being called 'Hazel'.

"Ehh…" he responded with a shrug. He'd played for them once when they had nothing to do, fashioning a drum out of an overturned pot. Both Jef and Maddie had been thoroughly impressed, both of them encouraging him to play for the mistress to see if she'd let him play for their guests. He'd only been at The Broken Lance for a year – he wasn't sure if he was ready to start playing for an audience again; it reminded him too much of what he'd left behind.

Blessedly, the cheers from the common room put a stop to any more conversation about playing. That was their cue to get back to work, for the bard would be wrapping up his performance and that meant the three of them would be on clean up duty as soon as the common room was cleared.

It took almost a full hour after the performance had stopped to get everyone cleared out of the common room. The mistress and the bard sat at the bar, dividing the evening's earnings while Maddie, Jefram and Revan cleaned up after the evening's revelers. Maddie swept the floor while the boys moved the tables and benches back into place where they belonged.

"When in the springtime of the year…" Revan sang softly as he worked, humming most of the lyrics to the song he'd heard earlier that night. Both Maddie and Jefram simply took it in stride, accustomed to hearing the youngest employee of the Broken Lance sing or hum while he worked. Mistress Lida, however, had not been privy to such things and paused in counting the coin earned that evening to listen to the young Domani.

"Your young lad there has a decent voice," the bard said, also pausing momentarily, his attention temporarily on Revan. "Does he play as well?"

"I'm not sure," Lida answered honestly. "This is the first I've ever heard him sing."

"Is it, now?" the bard asked, now even more intrigued by the young man. "Boy."

The humming ceased immediately, Revan's movements frozen as he'd not expected anyone to talk to him while he moved furniture.

"Yes, sir?" he replied turning around slowly to face the bard that had spoken.

"You hum rather well," the bard said. "I imagine you sing well also but do you play?"

Revan looked at Maddie who nodded encouragement, then looked at Jefram who did the same. Part of him was excited to have this potential opportunity and yet part of him was terrified that if one secret was revealed, the one he hid the most would come to light as well.

"Aye," he finally said, staring at his feet instead of at the bard.

"Do you play that bad, boy, that you're ashamed of it?" the bard asked with a hint of humor to his voice that brought Revan's gaze back up with a bit of defiance and insult.

"No," he replied curtly. "Just… haven't in a while, is all."

The bard merely nodded and glanced at the mistress of the inn. If the boy played as well as he sang, it might be worth picking up an apprentice, should the lady allow it. Lida didn't need to look at the bard to know what the man was thinking. She'd never heard the boy sing or play but had heard whispers of it from her employees. He'd entertain them, kept them happy and smiling, which kept _her_happy and smiling.

"Play a little for us, Hazel," Lida said, straightening from the bar to regard him rather than remain leaning over her bar as she had been. She would hate to loose the young man that had crawled to her compost heap almost a year ago, but she could not, in good conscience, hold the boy back either. This was not his place and now he had an opportunity to find where that place was.

"I don't have anything to play, though, Mistress," he answered already feeling his stomach twist up in knots at the prospect of what he had been asked to do. He was a dishwasher – something safe and common in a place where no one knew his secrets.

"Here," the bard said, picking up the fiddle from earlier and handing it to Revan. "Try that on for size."

Revan took it a bit timidly and looked it over. The fiddle was one of the first things he'd learned to play, one of the few instruments his father – and most men – could play. It felt good to have an instrument in his hands again. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it. Still, there was that slightest of hesitations. He knew if he played now, it would be with all his heart and he would never be able to go back to being a simple kitchen hand. He would get his wish, travel the world on the notes of his song.

He looked at Maddie and Jefram again, both of them nodding for him to play. He then glanced at the bard and Mistress Lida and finally decided. The good mistress was giving him a chance to soar and be heard instead of being stuck as nothing more than kitchen help. So he lifted the fiddle to his chin and played.

The notes filled the common room of the inn, slowly at first, deliberate and calculated before things exploded into a frenzy of notes that all flowed perfectly together in chaotic form. It was upbeat and catchy, something that would have had the entire inn shouting for more if they had been so privileged. His mother would always ask that he play this song first as part of his performance for her guests for it would get them excited and eager to buy food and drink from all the dancing.

The bard stood watching in near awe. He would have given anything to be able to play like this boy when he'd been 16. He played with a passion the bard had not seen in years and with a talent that would surely attract the attention of kings and queens alike. By the time the song ended, the bard had already made his decision.

"Oh, Hazel, that was amazing!" Maddie squealed delightedly. Jefram's opinion was the same but he reserved his comments when Maddie ran to the younger man and hugged him tightly.

"Indeed," the bard said. "That was quite amazing. Consider me impressed."

"Thank you," Revan said, having grace enough to flush at the compliments and praising looks.

"I dare say, Mistress Lida that you may want to start looking for new kitchen help," the bard said, coming to stand in front of Revan. "Our young man, Hazel here has a different path for his future."


	4. Chapter 4

The suns last rays kissed the horizon as the moon lifted the veil that it hid behind to watch over the people in Tanchico. The bard sat, idly watching through the window of his rooms in the Three Court Plum, his hand absently stirring the tea sitting before him.

"Isn't that your little songbird, Blaithe?" Ithan said coming to join his lover at the small table. It was a rare gift to have the ever-traveling Gleeman in Tanchico and Ithan took full advantage when he was.

"Hm?" Blaithe responded glancing in the direction that Ithan had pointed. There, hiding in the corner was indeed the young man he'd claimed as apprentice having himself a rather passionate taste of one of the serving girls of the inn.

Blaithe could only chuckle and shake his head. The boy known as Hazel had been with him for a little over a year and a half. He was a glory to be heard, in all honesty, and a good student. What he didn't already know, he learned quickly and what knowledge he did have, he shared. Small secrets, tricks or quirks that came naturally to the young man were great boons to the master. Audiences flocked to see them for they made quite a powerful duet. It didn't hurt, either, that the boy was a sponge and remembered everything verbatim the first time it was heard.

However, the child also had an insatiable appetite for women that often made Blaithe cringe. Oh to have such stamina still. They'd not been in Tanchico but for one evening – hadn't even performed yet – and already the boy had found himself a playmate that would, no doubt, be fawning over his every word by morning.

"Quite a little randy isn't he?" Ithan snickered, leaning rather coyly into his palm.

"You have no idea," Blaithe responded, sipping his tea.

"Domani?" Ithan questioned. In truth, Blaithe had never really questioned him. The boy, according to Mistress Lida, had been found in her compost heap near death from fever and had stayed with her as kitchen help after the ordeal. They too, never thought to question him, for the young man was a good, hard worker and kept mostly to himself. The time he'd spent with Blaithe had been spent in work, study, and travel more than idle conversation.

"You know..." Blaithe said, finally and truly thinking about the question. He'd never thought to ask but had deduced as much on his own. Despite traveling from one city to the next and picking up this or that from wherever they went, Hazel's mannerisms were decidedly Domani. Personalities as strong as his did not come out of backwater villages or towns. Blaithe had always just taken it in stride.

"You don't know, do you?" Ithan finished flatly. He loved Blaithe and enjoyed their time together but the man could be as dimwitted as a dull gray painting.

"It hasn't come up," Blaithe explained, periodically glancing down at his apprentice. The two randy-makers weren't exactly being discreet – it would not do well to have the innkeep kick them out before they'd even had a chance to begin just because his student couldn't keep it in his pants.

"Blaithe," Ithan began, sighing heavily.

"He's from Arad Doman, Ithan," Blaithe said with confidence. "Probably an innkeeper's son – he knows his way around any inn he sets foot in and knows just which song to play to get people buying. His speech and mannerisms are Domani as well. Just because I don't pry doesn't mean I remain ignorant."

"Why did he leave, Blaithe?" Ithan asked, pushing the subject. He worried for his lover. Blaithe was too trusting, too sure of his associations and connections to ever question further than what he was told. Sure, people left home all the time, but not to become kitchen serfs at some inn like Blaithe's boy had. There had to have been another reason, something else that would have sent a fifteen year old boy running from what he knew and loved.

"I haven't asked," Blaithe responded, noting the look in his lover's eyes. Ithan didn't like 'not knowing', it was part of his charms and yet part of his flaws as well. Blaithe merely raised his hand, forestalling anymore of the interrogation before it could start up again. "He's a good lad, Ithan, but I get enough of him on a daily basis. You, on the other hand, I don't get nearly enough of."

"Changing the subject, Blaithe?" Ithan responded, instantly wooed by the tone in Blaithe's voice and hating himself for it. He _always_ changed the subject when he didn't want to discuss something. Cursed man – how he loved him so.

"Yes," Blaithe retorted with a slow seductive grin. "Are you complaining?"

"Not in the least," Ithan said, the conversation forgotten and ignored – for now.

The crowd had been pleased that night and Blaithe could not have been more proud of his apprentice. It had been the first time the boy had performed alone since being with the master and he'd done beautifully. The profits were spectacular and praise even better. Not to mention the purses it suddenly opened for more private performances, as well.

He sat at the bar, much like he had the night he'd met Revan, spectacles resting precariously at the edge of his nose while the profits were divided with the innkeeper. Ithan hovered near by, a regular patron and decorator – half the paintings on the walls were done by Ithan. Revan, on the other hand, had already slunk away to find more of that passion he'd secured the night before.

"Your little song bird has vanished already, Master Blaithe," Rendra said, collecting her share of the coin on the bar. "Its not safe to be out on the streets at night anymore."

"How so?" Blaithe inquired, instantly intrigued. He'd been hearing much of the same in most of the cities he and Revan had passed through recently. All of them had different reasons, of course but it was an odd thing.

"Darkfriends been wandering, Master Blaithe," Rendra explained. "Had some of those Reds from Tar Valon scuttling through here not too long past. Took with them so mighty frightened boys with them on a mere rumor. I hear they're still at the Garden of the Silver Winds, doing some more investigating about these Darkfriends everyone says they been seeing."

Ithan merely listened, ignoring the inquiring eyebrow from his lover after hearing such news. Blaithe had been in a mood to do other things than hear the news of the city the night before and Ithan had been more than willing to oblige him. Three people had died almost a month gone now with no explanations. Their home had been ransacked but all the valuables left and that had instantly sent the rumor of Darkfriends through the streets. So strange, these deaths, that it had called the attention of Tar Valon. The two Aes Sedai that had come had both been of the Red Ajah, both investigating a similar incident in Falme.

"That is rather disturbing news, Mistress," Blaithe commented, pausing as if considering something. "Perhaps I should go find my wandering apprentice then?"

"I'll go find him, Blaithe," Ithan said. "Finish what you're doing here and you can meet me at my flat. You _did_ promise to sell some of my work on your travels, after all."

"I did, at that," Blaithe said with a grin and a suspicious eye. Ithan was up to something, he could tell, but he'd let it be for now. The news he'd heard was disturbing enough for reasons he'd prefer to keep to himself, so he went along with Ithan's suggestion. "I'll meet you there then."

Ithan didn't say anything more, waving back as he left the inn, drawing his cloak about his shoulders. It was cool that night with only a few clouds rolling across the sky, periodically blotting the dim but blessed light of the moon. He walked a few blocks to the first place he could think for the boy to be. Many of the young men had been talking of a game of dice after the performance. Unfortunately, given the hour, the game had long since finished, for Ithan walked in on a mostly empty alley, startling the black cat that had been picking at what had been left behind.

"Dam," he cursed, startling himself as well. Rendra wasn't wrong; it wasn't safe to be out after dark anymore. He hitched his cloak closed a little tighter and kept going, there were a few more taverns that stayed open well past the witching hour despite the recent gloom and warnings floating through the city. Ithan let his feet carry him on instinct to places _he _might visit were he still 17.

His feet stopped however, along with the beating of his heart, when he rounded a corner and found his quarry. Blessedly, he had the sense of mind to duck back behind the building before he was seen, watching wide-eyed as the boy he'd been searching for peered up at a street sign with a ball of flame floating idly in his palm. The boy could channel.


	5. Chapter 5

The rain pounded the ground just as it had the night Revan had found his way to the inn in Saldea. Then, he'd been ill and near death. Now, he was simply grumpy and half frozen. Each droplet hit the roof of the wagon with a hard 'plunk', one in every five droplets finding their way through the small leak and ultimately to the bucket on the floor in front of him.

His eyes stared at the bucket with disinterest and boredom, fingers steepled beneath his chin as his mind went from active to mush in the span of an hour. He'd finished his duties, tuned the instruments and even managed to scrape together a meal of breads and cheese. There was very little that could be cooked in the tiny little wood-burning stove inside the wagon and it always managed to singe the wall it rested against besides. One would think that traveling the world and gaining renown as a Gleeman would accord one with better living quarters. One would think.

"Ugh," he said in exasperation, flopping back against the stiff mattress used for sleeping on. He'd grown too tall for such an act, however, and clunked the back of his head against the wood panels of the wagon.

"Brilliant, Haze," he grumbled to himself sitting up slowly once more with his hand now rubbing the spot he'd bumped. "Gonna knock yourself comatose on principle..."

"Talking to yourself again, young one?" Master Blaithe said as he entered the wagon, sopping wet, dripping and laden with wax-paper-wrapped packages. "I've heard it said that speaking to yourself is a sign of insanity."

"Or brilliance," Revan retorted with a grin, moving to help his master if for no other reason than to have something to do. "Took you long enough. Thought maybe you'd drown."

"Wouldn't you wish?" Master Blaithe chuckled, removing his cloak and hanging it near the little stove. "Dark One himself wouldn't be out in this storm."

"Yet you walk out to town because you want honey cakes," Revan chided. Not that he was complaining; the master had returned with more than just simple honey cakes.

The small hamlet near them wasn't even worth mentioning, its name unimportant, its size too small to be noticed. It had no inn and only a single teeny tavern that catered to the farmers and three lumberers that actually lived in the spit of a place. The storm had rolled in before they could put any real space between the itty town and themselves, so they'd simply stopped to make camp before the roads turned to sludge. Sitting in a leaky wagon was better than being stuck in 2 feet of mud.

"Well, now lets be fair," Master Blaithe said with his ever present smile. "_We_ wanted honey cakes. _I_ just had presence of mind to act upon that want."

Revan could only shake his head and grin. Almost two years he'd spent traveling the land with Master Blaithe. They'd been to many nations, seen wondrous things and lived the adventures and fantasies only seen in stories. His sins had been forgotten, his secrets long since buried and his future brighter than it had ever been. It was a good life, even with the odd quirks the master sometimes threw out. He was a good man, Blaithe, knowledgeable and fair and as talented as they came. Revan felt truly blessed even with the rain still pounding away at their humble little traveling home.

"Tell me something, Revan," Master Blaithe said after a small stint of silence. He'd gotten himself settled, opened the package with the honey cakes and poured himself his nightly glass of bourbon. "Why did you leave Arad Doman?"

Nearly two years; two years and not once had his master asked that question or even used his real name. It was enough to nearly stop Revan's heart and knot his stomach into a rock, the honey cake in his hand forgotten. It had never been a topic to come up, something for which Revan had been eternally grateful. Why now?

"W-what do you mean?" Revan answered, unable to keep the stutter and tremble out of his voice. He'd been careful, been sure to ignore that taunting caress, that horrid sin that had sent him running in the first place as much as he possibly could. He'd never spoken of his past, of the family he'd left behind or the things he'd done, he was sure of it! There was nothing – _nothing_ – to provoke questioning now.

"The way you speak," Master Blaithe explained casually. "It is not the way those of Saldea speak and you have the mannerisms of a Domani. I have traveled the known world, Revan – I have learned the small nuances of culture like the back of my hand. If I hadn't, I'd not have made it as far as I have. And… it's a curiosity. We've been together now for almost two years and its never come up – we've been busy. But… the sound of a leak is only so entertaining."

Revan didn't know how to answer. He'd never counted on anyone learning where he was from just by how he spoke or what he did. He'd always just taken it for granted that no one had thought to ask or pester. Not even Mistress Lida or Jefram had asked or pestered. It was enough for them that he'd been a hard worker and, until now, he'd thought that had been enough for his master as well. So then what had changed? What had prompted the question?

"Does it bother you that I ask?" Blaithe continued, studying his apprentice as he sipped his bourbon.

"N-no," Revan stumbled again. "Just unexpected. ... Why are you asking me this now?"

"Curious," Blaithe responded. " I've learned all that I can from observing and its not like we have anything better to do at the moment."

Revan now eyed his master suspiciously, swallowing hard against the lump rising in his throat. He didn't like this, not one bit. Nothing good could ever come from his master questioning him like he was doing and it only made his stomach knot up more. Of course, that only made his fighting spirit come out in full swing.

"Did Master Ithan ask about me?" he queried instead and was pleased to see the brief look of shock cross his master's face. Bingo. The man had been pleasant and a font of knowledge but overly curious for Revan's liking. It was not his place to say so, however, so he hadn't, taking the persistent questions and suspicious looks in stride for his master's benefit. Revan had never questioned his master's likes or dislikes, mannerisms or quirks. Now, however, he had reason to question.

"Ithan asks about everyone," Blaithe finally answered, setting his glass down for fear of choking the next time the boy spoke. He hadn't expected such a strong accusation to come back at him. The words themselves were nothing really, it had been the tone of voice used that set a chill down Blaithe's spine. Domani, indeed.

"Why?" Revan persisted.

"Its what he does," Blaithe answered with a shrug. "You're avoiding the question."

Revan merely turned his eyes back to the bucket in the center of the wagon. Of course he was avoiding the question. Answering meant _something_ would ultimately be gleaned from his past, an ounce of truth that would spell certain disaster for his future.

"You're… what, 17?" Blaithe ventured seeing as how his apprentice was not willing to be forthcoming with answers. "Which means you'd have left your home 'round the same time those boys in Katar died..."

The fact that Revan's pallor dropped three shades only confirmed what Ithan had so adamantly told Blaithe before their departure. His beloved had been terrified out of his skin when he'd returned back to the inn – without Revan. The fear of male chanelers was deep rooted in most but Blaithe had seen and experienced too much to be frightened off by superstition and speculation. The boy had never been anything but a good apprentice: studious, hard working, quick-witted; Blaithe could not have asked for anything better.

"Ithan saw you," Blaithe said softly. "He worries for me."

Revan had nothing to say. His mouth had gone dry and he could have sworn to the Creator his heart had stopped. Worry was the least of anyone's concerns. In all honesty, people should be downright terrified of him and they'd be well in their rights. Any second now, he expected the door to burst open and the inhabitants of the tiny hamlet to drag him out kicking and screaming with pitch forks raised to be burned alive for his curse. Instead he had the incessant drumming of the rain and a weighing look from his master. This was it, this would be his judgment.

"Nothing changes, Hazel," Blaithe stated finally after watching his apprentice drown in his own anguish. The boy was terrified – and rightly so. He was a man that could channel – a demon in hiding. By all rights, he should not be allowed to continue living beyond the time it took to pack him off to the White Tower. But that was not what Blaithe intended; it was not within his capacities to turn this boy away.

"W-what?" Revan croaked in shock, daring to look up at his master.

"Nothing changes," Blaithe repeated. "I've grown too accustomed to having you around and my laziness forbids anything to change because of a minor inconvenience."

Revan could not believe his ears.

"W-why?" Revan croaked finally looking up at his master. He was a man that could channel – a demon hiding in the guise of a young man just waiting for the final straw before the attack. It was not anything Master Blaithe needed to be burdened with and yet...

"Because all men have their secrets, Hazel,"Master Blaithe explained as he filled a second tumbler full of bourbon and handed it to his apprentice. "And because not all sins are chosen by the sinner."


End file.
